Once, when we were crazy,
we made love on Mohonk Tower.
Warm autumn afternoon,
other hikers voices floating up to us,
daring us,
"Come on! Push it!"
"Get up there!"
"You can do it, honey!"
My wife is still that bold.
She would come—
with me—
like that again.
I'm still nuts that way too,
just not quite so immediate.
My first coming's not guaranteed.
My second coming's a matter of faith.
The tower stands, a glorious glowing
memory.
I stand, well...
not always, but certainly,
often enough.
